Alex sashays away, it’s his trademark. I’ve often wondered if he’s gay. He never talks about girlfriends, although I know he has lots of friends of both sexes. He’s great to be around and he gives out good vibes. We work well as a team and there are times when I think that I wouldn’t still be here, working for Mason, if it wasn’t for Alex. His positivity and good karma make up for the discomfort I feel whenever I’m in Mason’s company. Fortunately that’s kept to the minimum, as Mason Portingale rarely mixes with the entry-level management team.
“Your coffee madam,” Alex reaches across to place the mug in front of me.
“Thanks. So you think this is a winner then?” I look at the sheets we’ve quickly pulled together for the ten minute presentation.
“Sure do. I think centring the campaign on that iconic Beatles song is inspired. The words are such an amazing fit. It’s a winner Ceri.” His arm brushes against mine as he sits down and I move slightly, not wanting him to feel uncomfortable. We exchange smiles and I can’t help shrieking. “I think we’re on it with this one!” I fight to keep the volume down and we do the sitting down, stamping-our-feet happy dance.
“High-five boss, you’ve done it again!”
***
I leave at five-thirty and take a leisurely stroll back to my apartment. I’m on a high because the client was full of enthusiasm for the ideas Alex and I brought to the meeting this afternoon.
Then it happens.
The dappled sunshine reflecting on the pavement from the tall trees overhead suddenly pales. Everything becomes slightly opaque: it’s like looking at an old photo where the colour is toned down. My footsteps seem to slow for no apparent reason at all. The air is heavier, it’s harder to fill my lungs and the sounds around me seem to have been turned down a notch or two. Then I see a young man. He fits into the picture in front of me as if he’s a part of it, yet I know he isn’t real. We make eye contact for the briefest second and he turns to face the road, then he’s gone. That’s if he was ever really there.
Panic begins to overtake my thoughts. A dog runs past me and my eyes follow it, wondering why it isn’t on a lead. There’s no owner in sight, then the young man appears again from nowhere, standing about five or six feet away from me. He’s merely a shadow, like the pale, dappled pools of sunlight on the pavement. The breeze moves the leaves around high overhead and the light flickers, making him blend in even more. Our eyes meet, lock, and in that instant I can see him more clearly. He wants me to stop the dog.
I break into a run, wondering how I can waylay the animal before he reaches the busy main road. I’m carrying my mobile phone and my bag is slung over my shoulder, but aside from that I have nothing with which to catch him. My pace quickens and I can see that he has slowed, a little spooked by the sound of the heavy traffic ahead.
My mind plays out the scene of the dog running into the road and a car having to swerve suddenly to avoid hitting him. The car slews into a cyclist who begins to overtake him, angry he’s slowed down with no apparent reason and unable, himself, to see the dog. The sound of the collision is sickening.
I throw down my phone and bag then quickly slip my arms out of my linen jacket. The gap closes and I toss the jacket into the air, hoping it will land on my target. It covers the poor little guy’s head and shoulders, draping down over his front legs, and brings him to a halt almost instantly. All I can see is a rear end that quickly disappears as he turns half-circle, trying to shake off the jacket. He’s only a few feet away from the road. I look to the left and I see the cyclist, slipping into the space in front of the car that is less than ten feet away from me. He’s totally unaware of course and continues weaving in and out of the traffic. I close my eyes and utter a silent prayer. The sound of yelping brings me back into the moment. The dog has managed to free himself.
“Charlie!”
The dog runs past me in the direction of his anxious owner.
“Thank you.” His voice reflects the fact that he realises Charlie was lucky. “I’m so very grateful to you. I can’t believe he ran off like that, I don’t know how you managed to act so quickly. Really, that was amazing. I can’t even begin to think what might have happened if he’d caused an accident.” He bends to hug Charlie, who is jumping around like a live wire. “You’re lucky Charlie, lucky to be here and lucky you didn’t get someone else hurt.” Both dog and owner look up at me. I take a few deep breaths, trying to regain my composure, and focus on dusting off my jacket.
“No problem,” I say casually. “Right place, right time.”
The guy continues to stare at me when I say a casual goodbye and walk away. I can feel his eyes on me and a sense of disbelief at what has just occurred. The scene that keeps playing over and over again in my head is like a trailer from a horror movie. I wince as the sound of metal crunching against bone assaults my ears. Tears fill my eyes. I can’t stop them brimming over and running down my cheeks. Another episode for my log: number one hundred and thirty-two.
Chapter Three – Who’s Naughty and Who’s Nice?
“Ceri?” It’s Anna and she sounds excited. “Seb told you about the wedding plans? You don’t think it’s over the top, do you? I mean the Scottish link is rather more like wishful thinking.” She stops to laugh and I can’t help smiling. “It’s only that I think the kilts and things are so romantic.” It almost sounds like she’s pleading with me to agree. Why does it matter what I think anyway? That familiar sensation of sadness unsettles my stomach and I wonder what causes it. Anna is open and honest, so why do I believe she’s going to hurt Seb in a way that he’ll never get over? I close my eyes and wish it would all go away.
“It’s your wedding and the bride calls the shots. Seb seems happy enough to go along with it, and he’s the one who has to wear the kilt. He’s trying hard to make you happy Anna, whatever you want he’ll do everything he can to make it happen.” I realise my words sound a little like a dig and I wasn’t conscious of wanting to upset her. There are a few seconds of silence.
“I don’t want to turn into bridezilla.”
I’ve embarrassed her and I feel ashamed of myself. “You won’t. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, it’s what makes you and Seb happy that counts. It’s your special day.”
“Oh, thank you so much Ceri. I worry that Seb is simply agreeing with everything I put forward and I thought he might have confided in you if he was unhappy about any of the arrangements. I also have a favour to ask.” She hesitates, and I hold my breath. “Would you be my chief bridesmaid?”
It isn’t what I was expecting at all, and while it’s really not my thing I know I have to agree and sound enthusiastic. “That would be lovely, thank you!” In my head I imagine a red bridesmaid’s dress with a huge bow on the back that makes me look like a badly dressed doll.
“Oh, Seb is going to be so happy! Two of my best friends are also going to be bridesmaids and you are all about the same height, so it’s going to be great for the photos.” She should have stopped at ‘happy’. Photos are only photos, is it necessary to consider the size and shape of the people who will appear in them? I shake my head, glad Anna can’t see that the truth is we have very different priorities. I put down the phone, relieved that at least I haven’t upset the bride.
Maybe I’m old before my time because of the things I’ve experienced. Who knows? Maybe I inherited the sensible gene and that’s why Seb has always been so adventurous in his life – he’s the risk-taker. He’s finally ready to settle down after realising that having someone to share your life with becomes more important to you the older you become.
When I think back over the guys that have come and gone in my life, I can see that